A good First Officer
by OPYKJ
Summary: A few weeks in his new position, Chakotay is still finding out what Captain Janeway expects from her First Officer. Fluff. Rated T for slight innuendos.


**A good First Officer**

 _She is already taking her uniform jumper off, in a hurry to get the release she is after. I have to help with the sleeves and soon she's only got the Starfleet regulation undershirt on her back._

What was I meant to do?

She was fidgeting.

It was not obvious of course. There was no foot tapping or glaring impatience at the stars streaming by. Her gaze was focused on the screen, her voice unwavering, her orders to the bridge crew precise as usual.

I am still learning how to read my captain's moods and this morning I simply couldn't make out what was the problem. There was nothing on long range sensors and the shift would have been uneventful if it had not been for that fidgeting of hers.

First I had noticed her hands tightening on the arm rest, then she was moving her lower back in a small circular motion against her seat. That got my full attention. I've never served before under a captain with such an interesting backside.

First Officer. I am a First Officer.

I know from experience that the bridge is not a good place to be, next to a captain who is trying hard to pretend nothing is wrong with her. I thought that maybe I should ask what her problem was, if only for the crew's sake. A good First Officer should think of the crew's effectiveness.

" _Harder, please"._

" _There?"_

" _Ah, yes. Perfect. Don't stop, please"._

She was still for a while.

I thought that maybe she should be left alone to better ponder our next encounter with what the Delta Quadrant throw at us with infallible regularity. She likes to deconstruct the events which have befell us so far to better plan for the next time. There was bound to be more bloody, ship-shattering next times on our travel home. A good First Officer should let his captain do what she does best.

 _I move my fingers a tad quicker._

" _Oh, Chakotay…"_

She was definitely not herself. In the few weeks we have been working together, I have seen her happy, tired, hurt, drained, angry, triumphant, sad, but never fidgeting. This morning, she was doing something that was throwing me off and the crew on the bridge was beginning to notice.

 _Her voice has dropped an octave. I don't think she knows what that's doing to my self-control._

I was pondering how to resolve what was becoming my problem and I missed what Paris was saying. Usually, there is a bit of good-natured banter between those two. He flirts with impertinence at times but I keep my counsel to myself.

The smile on his face disappeared when she nodded absently without replying. As he turned back to the helm, he gave me a quick look, daring me to get to the bottom of whatever was distracting the Captain before he would.

It's not good to ignore the ship's head gambler. Given Paris' single-minded focus on increasing his winnings, I thought it might be beneficial to slow down the cogs I could see turning very rapidly in his brain. A good First Officer should limit the ship's scuttlebutt, especially when his captain's behaviour is the main focus of the bets.

 _Arms clenched on the edge of the desk, she arches her back, pushing against me. All I can see is the white nape of her neck, the small hairs under her bun raised, bracing themselves against my breath. It takes all my willpower not to sink my mouth into the ivory curve, there and then._

 _Instead, I close my eyes, letting my fingers bring bliss and relief to the flesh underneath._

I needed more information, and fast. Maybe some spying was called for. Well, not spying. That would be getting down to Paris' level. What do you call a First Officer who is going through his PADD to see what his captain has been up to? Concerned. I was concerned. Not spying.

We were going through a calm region of space for a change and most of the crew had had the day off so the holodecks had been in great demand. The Sandrine scenario had been running for most of the day and many crew members made use of it, while Harry and Ayala had booked a fencing program. Good to know the two crews were spending some of their free time together, but that was not what I was after. Ah. Captain Janeway, 16:00, rock climbing simulation. I had her.

Grade 5.10. Not bad. She's manifestly not a beginner. But my data showed she had terminated well before the end of the booking. Strange.

I put the PADD back on the seat armrest and plunged in.

"Did you enjoy your holodeck time yesterday?" I asked her, leaning towards her command chair. A perfectly innocent query.

Paris' hands stopped moving, hovering a hairbreadth off his console. Harry let out a small sigh. There was no sound coming from Tuvok's station, but I could almost feel his ears twitching ever so slightly.

The Captain turned towards me and frowned as if I had just materialised from deep space instead of having sat beside her for the best part of the past hour. While the fidgeting had momentarily halted, I noticed a faint smudge on the underside of her jaw and she was careful not to lean on her left arm. That's when I really became concerned.

"Is everything all right, Captain?", I added in a low voice.

Once B'Elanna told me that in the rare occasions I had looked at her the same way I was staring then at the Captain, she had had to fight the impulse to rip her clothes off while opening her soul bare. Something to do with my empathic dark eyes and a broody tattoo. After that revelation, I had toned down the concerned stare quite a bit but I stepped it up in this instance. Something was wrong with the Captain and I needed to know what. I thought the worst that could happen was that she would give me a good dressing down. A good First Officer should catch anything his captain wants to toss at him, figuratively or otherwise.

Her blue eyes refocused slowly from my forehead to around my mouth.

"Commander, in my ready room. Now". She bolted from her chair and was gone in two seconds.

"Tuvok, you've got the bridge". I stood up, my hands pulling down my uniform top in an effort to act casual. Tom gave me a better-you-than-me smirk. I returned the bad attitude with what I thought was a good impression of the Captain's death glare before the ready room door opened to let me through.

"Commander, I need you to do something for me".

That's when she started to take her clothes off and asked me to use my fingers on her.

A good First Officer must satisfy his captain. A back itch can be a pain to reach when one over-estimates one's athletic capabilities, and then decides not to go and see the Doctor for a pulled shoulder.

Seska would snigger watching me used as scratching post. I can guess B'Elanna's horrified look at the Maquis mauler rubbing the back of a 'Starfleet'. I am sure my ancestors are muttering something about old colonial practices. God knows what Paris would make of the situation.

There are layers to the Captain that I have not glimpsed as yet, but I strongly feel that duplicity towards a member of her crew is not one of them. I understand that what I am doing right now is a trivial thing indeed and I am happy to do what my captain expects of me.

As my fingers continue to roam her back, I reflect on how the circumstances we have found ourselves thrown into have upended our positions from sworn enemies to a cohesive command team. Me, the Maquis leader turned into a uniformed Officer. Her, the model Captain 70,000 light years from Federation directives. No doubt our relationship will continue to deepen with time.

I am now massaging the knots at the base of Kathryn's neck. A good First Officer is always ready to grasp new opportunities with both hands.


End file.
